The
fog slithered along the ground, my feet disappearing as if
underwater. The soggy, snow covered leaves assured me I was still on
terra firma, yet looking down, I was footless, as if walking in
water. Thick, goey clam chowder water.

I
couldn't see across the street, only the faint glow of the still-lit
street light. As I waded through the bright yellow carpet of fallen
leaves, a few would pop out of the fog and twirl in front of me. I
know where the stairs are, so I was safe, but it was surreal
ascending them without seeing my feet.

I
turned back to look at my house (the purpose of my venturing forth in
the fog to begin with). I could see a tube from the aquaponic garden
poking out of the fog towards me. Lumps that were cars. My faint
street light. The closest branches of our autumn blaze maple, with a
couple of lonely leaves.

Driving
was even weirder. 15 mph was about the extent of visibility, but of
course cars (without headlights) would come out of nowhere, as if
they'd just exited some wormhole. I turned on my fog lights.
(Swedish cars need fog lights...)

Pulling
into the dreaded carline was bizarre. There was no school. I was in
a line going nowhere, could only see one car in front of me, and we
just crept along. Finally I could make out a flagpole, and the
school appeared as I entered the circle, as if just deposited there
by some kid done building a Lego set.

I
inched my way home and wondered about the extreme contrast from the
day before. It didn't escape me that I had only one day of my
favorite month left – and I could see very little of it. It's as
if October was saying, “Pay attention! Look closely! I'm still
here, but not for long. Cherish the day.”

Today
she's back in her full glory for one more showy day. I'm crunching
through my dancing leaves again, marveling at the now blood red
burning bushes around every corner, and wishing that time would stand
still, just a little longer.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Or
when something extraordinary happens, do you just chalk it up to
beating the odds? (For those of you who argue with me about math's
usefulness – here's another example ;-) Let me tell you what
happened last week, and you tell me: miracle or odds.

For
our 20th wedding anniversary last year, The Engineer
bought me a gorgeous, pink sapphire ring with diamond accents. OK,
that's not entirely true. He PAID for the ring which I picked out.

Ever
since he gave me a toaster oven for Christmas the first year we were
dating, I've picked out my own gifts and said, “Here honey, look
what you got me!” We joke about it. “How did you know that a
this would be perfect? You're such a good shopper!” I've worn it
everyday since.

Monday
was no ordinary day. I was finally starting to feel human again, the
boys were leaving for hunting on Wednesday, and I had to buy their
groceries, and get all the clothes washed so they could pack.

I
filled a cart over the brim at the grocery store. It was
meticulously packed. The checker, as he was filling bag after bag,
decided I needed two carts to get everything out to the car because
he wasn't a good packer. I got everything inside the house.
I put everything away, I packed the food for the trip. During this
outing, I'd used every reusable cloth grocery bag I own.

As
I was folding load of laundry number five, I needed lotion. As I was
putting it on, I noticed, to my horror, that the stone was missing
from my ring. I was despondent. What are the odds of finding
something of that size after all that my hands had done in the last
four hours? NOT VERY GOOD. Chances slim to none. It could be
hiding literally anywhere in the house, a bag, the store, the parking
lot...

I
don't give up easily though, so I called the store and asked them to
look out for it. I tore apart my bed, where I fold laundry. I
started to think about where I might have dinged my hand and realized
that shoving all the sandwich makings into the meat drawer might have
put some pressure on my hand. I took the drawer all apart. No
stone.

Next
I decided that why not go through all the cloth grocery bags that I'd
folded and put away after emptying them. I had to do something, and
might as well do a complete-able task. Most have that rubbery bottom
flap thingie to stabilize them. I took it out when possible, and ran
my hands under the ones that were attached. I came to a bag with no
bottom rubber thing, so I just shook it out.

“Tink,
tink, tink.”

Something
fell out of the bag. Pebble, probably. But I looked around on the
wood floor, and there was my pink heart. INCONCEIVABLE! I was
floored. I cried. I called the store back, and told the same nice
lady in customer service that I'd found it. “That's completely
amazing!” I agreed.

So
you tell me, miracle, or just beating the (almost impossible) odds?
I'm voting miracle.

Have
you ever lost, and then found something precious that you were
unlikely to ever see again? Do you believe in miracles? Do you buy
your own gifts because you're married to such a great shopper like I
am?

However, now they have a new kind of inhaler, which I get to use because the old kind doesn't really work so well for me anymore. You remember how medically "special" I am...

It
looks like this.

See anything resembling anything familiar from the other pictures? Me
neither. Good thing I got instructions.

These
take up, I kid you not, ¼ of my bed. See all the pictures? See how
complicated it is? Now imagine you're having a breathing emergency.
Do you have time to decipher all these directions? No. You do not.
You want to suck up some medicine right away. NOW. You don't want
to find slots A,B,C, and D. You don't want to figure out how to get the bottom half of the inhaler off to insert the cartridge. Correctly. Which they explain. In detail. You don't want to have to repeat steps
5, 6, 7 FOUR times. (These involve priming the inhaler by turning the bottom half until you hear a "distinct" click, then depressing the "activation button".) I'm quoting directly from the brochure here.
And get this. These steps need to be performed EACH time you want to
use your “rescue inhaler.” I think it would be faster to call an
ambulance, go to the hospital, wait to be seen in the ER, and get a
nebulizer treatment. Oh well, I guess I'll have something to read
next time I'm in carline. I'd better memorize these instructions if I want to have any hope of being rescued in time...

Monday, October 21, 2013

We
were talking about comfort foods the other day when I was whining
about being sick and trying to be comfortable. I mentioned soup,
specifically New England clam chowder. I have lots of other comfort
foods, and since I've been watching cooking (no surprise there...) a
lot lately, I've gotten fixated on a show called, “The Best Thing I
Ever Ate”. Celebrity chefs talk about their favorites in various
categories, say “with chopsticks”, or “in a deli”, or “wish
I'd thought of it”. I'm going to write some posts about my
favorites in various categories, and pretend I'm on the show. Today
is: comfort foods.

Nothing
beats a dish we call Jenocide's Favorite. It's her childhood favorite
(see nickname tab if you don't remember who she is) and she and her
mother have made it for me when I've had babies, or surgeries, or
just been sick. It warms my stomach and my heart.

It's
a simple dish. Layer of mashed potatoes, layer of hamburger gravy,
corn on top. It's super easy to make, and I can have dinner on the
table in under ½ an hour. Or like today, breakfast in 2 microwave minutes!

Jenocide's
Favorite (also known around
here as Tina's Favorite)

½
onion, chopped

1
pound of hamburger

1
packet Betty Crocker Roasted Garlic Mashed Potatoes

rosemary

lots
of salt and pepper

Flour

water

Kitchen
Bouquet Browning and Seasoning Sauce (the secret)

corn,
either frozen or canned.

Chop
onions and brown with hamburger, and seasonings -being generous with
all the spices. Once hamburger is cooked, adjust seasonings. You
will need a lot more salt than you think.

Toss
in enough flour to coat meat, then add about a cup of water per pound
of hamburger. (Now that I have large teenage boys, I make this with
2 pounds hamburger.) Let gravy come to a boil. Add a teaspoon or
two, according to taste, of the Kitchen Bouquet. Keep adjusting
seasonings.

Cook
corn in microwave and mashed potatoes according to box directions
while gravy is simmering.

Let
people serve themselves in the proportions they prefer. If you've
got OYT, then your left-overs will be short on mashed potatoes, as
you can see in my bowl. That's OK, I don't do so well with lots of
carbs.

It's
just so deliciously simple, yet the flavor of rosemary comes through
as a nice surprise, and the Kitchen Bouquet adds that “It's been on
the stove all day” depth to it. Try it for dinner sometime soon.
You'll be comforted.

~Tina

P.S
So what's this Kitchen Bouquet thing? It's a little bottle found on
the bottom shelf of the store, under the display of all the dry packs
of seasoning mixes.

You know, taco seasoning, brown gravy mix,
fajita seasoning, chili seasoning. Those packets you dump in your
food with all the MSG and flavor crystals and make it taste so yummy
without you having to have a rack of spices like some folks do...

Friday, October 18, 2013

When
I was in 5th and 6th grade my favorite TV shows
were The Brady Bunch, Charlie's Angels, Fantasy Island, and Love
Boat. I took the Charlie's Angels obsession pretty far, though. My
friend "Diana" and I would get together for play dates and act out
episodes of the show.

First
of all, I can't believe my mother let me watch those Aaron Spelling
shows. I remember her (or maybe it was the Swede) saying, “You
watch, there will be a woman in a bikini, for no apparent reason, in
the first ten minutes of the show.” Sure enough, there was. I
don't suppose 11 year old girls were the demographic he was actually
going for with that move, but we sure loved the show. Action,
danger, spying, detective work, undercover secret missions, spy
gadgets – it was awesome.

Diana was rather bossy (um, yes, there are people
bossier than me) and would decide what mission we were on, record
“Charlie” telling us our mission, and play it back on her tape
recorder. We'd get our equipment ready – we had a lot of stuff,
most of it homemade out of other things.

Blocks of wood, painted and
with a pipe-cleaner antenna were our walkie-talkies. We had ID
cards, carefully typed up and aligned on an old, manual typewriter. My
mom even let me use an expired credit card. I tried some security by
taping over the number with masking tape and putting a new number
there. I'm sure that would have stopped any nefarious use...We also
had check books – old checks with the account number cut off. We
had great fun "buying" stuff to outfit us for each assignment. Accessories are always an important part of the mission!

Our
purses were probably our best accomplishment. We each had several.
Some were real purses bought with hard-earned money, but most of them
we made ourselves. We had rudimentary sewing skills, so a draw
string bag could be accomplished as could flat ones, like a clutch
purse. We also made a lot of stuff out of cardboard and scotch tape.

We
really got into character. I was Jill (Farrah Fawcett, I was blonde
after all, and aspired to have her hair). Diana, who was of Indian
descent was Kelly (Jaclyn Smith). Mom even let us put on make-up for
the occasion. As you can see, we were quite stylish.

Here
I'm playing with Swissie, and DataBoy got in the picture. Of course my eyes are closed so you can see my nifty blue eyeshadow...

This was an undercover assignment as cowgirls. We got to carry “guns”. That's Diana on the left (and part of the other picture from my album.)

With
only a few hours of TV allowed a week, we made the best use of what
we saw and had hours of fun recreating the episodes, as accurately as
possible. I'm glad Momarazzi documented it all so I can show you
more embarrassing childhood photos...

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Like
to travel? I sure do. Last time I traveled, I used a travel agency
– and it's definitely the way to go. She took care of EVERY single
detail for us, and the trip went perfectly.

Now
imagine a travel agency that caters to your every need in the same
way, but not only can they send you somewhere,
they
can send you somewhen. A
TIME TRAVEL agency. Sign me UP!

I
have several trips in mind, but not your traditional trips. I've
written before about times in my life I'd like to go back and change,
but with an opportunity like this, I'm thinking more Fantasy Island.
(I'm sounding old, aren't I...) I'm talking about the ultimate
historical, ring-side seat for some fascinating periods in history. OK,
I'll admit it. I love math, words, AND history. (And science, but
I'll admit that another day so I'm not a total nerd. OK, I'm a total
nerd.)

I
don't want to go back and change history – as a science-fiction buff (oops,
more nerdiness...) I've seen way too many time travel movies that
show the immense consequences of going back in time. No, I just want
to watch. And learn. And see how it actually was.

For
my first trip I'd go back to some of my favorite books of my 20s. Regency romances. Set in the early 19th
century, these books were just treasures of witty dialogue, lavish
parties, chaperoned outings, and stolen kisses. I'd love to go
experience my own “season” in London and be courted by eligible
bachelors. Since the travel agency has time and money at its
disposal, I'm sure they could come up with employees to help me in
this quest without disturbing the course of history.

For
my second trip, I'd go back to feudal Scotland...read lots of great
historical fiction there...and then maybe I'd take a trip to medieval
Europe...or to the Viking era of my ancestors...wow, the
possibilities are endless.

Where
did I come up with this awesome idea? I didn't. This is the premise
for PK Hrezo's book Butterman (Time) Travel, INC.

Welcome
to Butterman Travel, Incorporated

We
are a full service agency designed to meet all your exclusive time
travel needs. Family-owned and operated, we offer clients one hundred
years of time travel experience. A place where you can rest assured,
safety and reliability always come first.

Anxious
to attend a special event from the past? Or for a glimpse of what the
future holds?

You’ve
come to the right place. We’re a fully accredited operation,
offering an array of services; including, but not limited to:
customized travel plans, professionally piloted operations, and
personal trip guides. *Terms
and conditions do apply

Conference
us directly from our Website. Our frontline reservation specialist,
Bianca Butterman, will handle all your inquiries in a professional
and efficient manner, offering a tentative itinerary and free fare
quote, so you can make the most of your time trip.

We
look forward to serving you at Butterman Travel, Inc., where time is
always in your hands.

PK
Hrezo is a native Floridian whose life could easily be a Jimmy Buffet
song. She shares her home with her firefighter husband and their two
children. When not creating characters and their worlds, PK can be
found at her other job of rearranging passenger’s itineraries for a
major international airline. The only hobbies she loves more than
traveling, are reading, writing, and music, and when the four are
combined she exists in total bliss.

Monday, October 14, 2013

Let's
get comfortable. I'm not feeling well (big surprise there...) and
thought I'd share some of the ways that I try to make myself feel
better and/or distract myself from the misery of a nasty respiratory
infection (or whatever the ailment du jour might be.)

Pajamas.
I have an old, faded set of pj's that I just adore. They were a
big splurge on a snowboarding trip with my Amazing Aunt Risky. My
favorite color, turquoise, with bears on them. And they came with a
TANK TOP and long pants. Perfect for me who's always too hot, but
wants the coziness of pants that are too long. I even have matching
socks. Aaahh...

Pillows.
I'm fairly high maintenance when it comes to pillows. I sleep on a
tempurpedic cooling gel pillow, hugging a very old and broken down
tempurpedic squishable pillow, with another pillow over my head.
It's not really a pillow anymore, it's a bag of tangled rags after
having been washed throughout its life, which as far as I can
remember goes back to elementary school. But for lazing around in
bed when you're sick, nothing beats my sleep number “rest and
relax” pillow. On one side, it's just slanted, but on the other,
it has a section of those tiny little beads right where your back
goes. It's perfect for sitting up in bed and having the exact right
back support.

Food.
When I'm feeling lousy, I turn to soup. We usually have
something homemade in the freezer, in two serving portions. Very
convenient for melting when needed. I also have a thing about New
England clam chowder. I'm still searching for the perfect
store-bought version, but nothing compares to the seafood chowder at
my favorite restaurant. Hmm...maybe it's a take-out kinda day...I
can also wistfully dream about THE best clam chowder EVER, which was
(surprisingly) at a hotel restaurant. OK, it was Seattle, but I've
never found airport hotel food all that memorable. Until then.

Entertainment.
Nothing comforts like an old movie. Also good for when I
inevitably fall asleep watching it. I know how it turns out! Some of my go-to
movies include Bull Durham, Devil Wears Prada, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Star
Trek (JJ Abrams'), Dangerous Minds, Pretty Woman, Runaway Bride, Love
Actually, A Love Song for Bobby Long, The Big Chill, Princess Bride,
Big Night, Hunger Games, Miss Congeniality, The Proposal, and Juno.
I never get tired of them – it's like playing a favorite album.

Activities.
As few as possible. And a nap on the schedule for sure.

What
do you do when you're sick or just down and out (or both?) What are
your go-to movies?

Friday, October 11, 2013

Oh
precious October, you are here, the most welcome of months. I
want to cherish each day, yet I know you'll slip by, unlike the
relentless heat of July and August which lingers long into September.

I'm
always waiting and watching for you, yet you surprise me every year.
I look up from my hurry-scurry schedule and leaves have begun their
seasonal change of clothes. The light has a different slant. The
sun comes in my kitchen window, blindingly bouncing off the cars in
the driveway and I can't sit at the table, it's so bright.

Gentle
breezes, cooling, refreshing breezes blow in my window. I crunch on
leaves that skitter-skatter down the sidewalk. So do my tires, as
the dancing leaves skip into the street where they'll have much more
room for their ballet.

Oh,
the colors. The bright yellow of the quivering-shivering aspen, the
gentle gold of an ancient oak.

Then there are the dancing lady trees
who give us the best of three worlds, and have yellowish tinted
leaves as their petticoat, then the first, almost transparent layer
of their dress is golden, giving way to the scarlett-burgundy last
layer. If it's still, you can't see the underclothes, but when the
wind whips by in a whirl, you get a peek. She shares her secret, as
she twirls with the breeze in a cotillion of her own.

Bushes
burn, catching autumn slowly as the redness spreads until the entire
shrub is shrouded in fire-engine red. You can watch that color
spread each day, if you're looking.

And
oh do I look. I roll my windows down to catch every breeze. I gawk
at the parade before me. I cast my gaze towards the mountains and
watch the aspen slowly emerge from the pines. Little rivers of
yellow flow slowly down the mountain, until I don't have to drive
very far at all to catch the show, this splendid October show.

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

On
Monday when I talked about the different kinds of moms that pick up
their kids from school, I didn't have enough time to talk about the
wide variety of others who also venture out into that danger zone
each day. So we're back in my car, parked between the two schools,
people watching. And let's be honest, people judging.

Lots
of dads pick-up, too, as many of you mentioned in the comments. Some would fit the categories I used for moms, but there are some other breeds worth mentioning.

The
Coach Dad: Dressed in athletic gear, he's a pretty good
picker-upper. After all, he's used to wrangling a large group of
kids this age and making them kick, throw, hit, and carry balls of
various types up and down fields. He can certainly get 5 bouncing
ping-pong balls headed for practice into the minivan. He's
organized. Collects all the cupcakes and saves them for after
practice, puts all the art in a stacked, not-to-be-squished pile on
top of the neatly arranged back-packs. The kids obviously have
assigned seats because there's no fighting as they quickly get in and
get buckled. Coach Dad would never double park. There are rules
about this stuff, you know.

Taking
the Day off Dad: He's a little confused. He has the day off,
the wife went somewhere, and though she did tell him exactly what to
do, he wasn't really listening. How hard could it be? But now there
are cars going in every direction, kids and moms are swarming like
ants all over the vicinity, the crossing guard glared at him for not
crossing in the right place, and he's just going to go up to the
school and find the kids. It's not a bad plan (if you don't count
the jaywalking) and he eventually finds them. Wow, what nice art!
Can I have a bite of the cupcake? Let's go out for ice-cream, too.
They jaywalk back to the car.

Business
Dad: Mom and dad are obviously juggling this schedule thing with
the kids, and he's on his bluetooth as he, in the most efficient
manner possible, gets the kids into the car (in the carline where
he's been waiting, easiest place for his conference call). He waits
patiently for his turn to pull out. The kids sneakily eat the
cupcakes in the back of the car, and have already put their art in
the front seat for him to notice. Which he will when he gets back to
the office because it's on top of his files.

There
are also sweet little grandmas who pick up their grandkids. I rarely see
them with a car, but grandma has her cane, and her little yappy dog, and smiles with delight at the little one who is sharing the cupcake.
The art will go on her fridge. They walk the few blocks to
grandma's house, chatting happily.

Grandpa
picks up, too. He's early. He stands next to his car, parked right
where his daughter told him to park, scanning the area for the kids,
and mentally goes over the list of who is riding home today. No one
can eat a cupcake in the car, so they are to hold them carefully
UNEATEN until they exit the vehicle. Back-packs and art are carefully
stowed in the pristine trunk. He's relieved when he has the days'
quota of kids, and signals carefully as he pulls out.

All this flurry is over in about 20 minutes. Drive by just a tad later in the afternoon, and it's like a ghost town, and none of the above ever happened.

*****

This
is my 500th post! It's unbelievable how quickly the time
has gone. I've learned SO much about how to get about in this
community, learned technical stuff about how to run a blog, I've
joined hops, fests, challenges, and made irreplaceable friends.
Thanks for coming along on the ride. I couldn't have done it without
you!

Monday, October 7, 2013

It's
no secret that I don't tolerate carlineparticularly very well. All
those parents breaking the (simple!) rules of going in order and
waiting one's turn. With all the kids I pick up (two and a lot of
the time three families), I've worked out a system that keeps my
blood pressure down and the kids safe.

I
park. Next to a beautiful park. It's within sight of the elementary
school which lets out at 3:00 pm, and just up the hill from the middle school which gets out at 3:15. My elementary charge just walks across the
soccer field and gets into my car. She usually plays games on my phone, I
get some precious reading time. The boys show up eventually.

Sometimes
I people watch. There are so many different kinds of moms, I get
distracted categorizing them.

Perfect
Mom: She has the umbrella, when it's raining, is impeccably
dressed, escorts her little one, carrying his or her impossibly huge
back-pack to spare the child the load. She has parked her car
(legally) and helps her child into the car. She oohs and aahs over
the art project, and let's the child eat the cupcake from the party.

The
I Can Barely Be Bothered Mom: Also impeccably dressed, but with a
whole different attitude. Stands by car door, looking annoyed,
scanning the crowd for her child. Yells, “Hurry UP!” as child
struggles with back-pack, lunch box, art project, and cupcake. Gets
huffily into car, and puffs out cheeks while waiting for child
struggling with multiple objects to climb into car, arrange stuff,
buckle in, and be ready for take-off. She's double-parked, IN the
carline, but now tries to sneak into the non-existent third lane to
get out before everyone else. Who knows what happens to the art or the cupcake. They're not important.

The
Frazzled Mom: She's trying to be Perfect Mom, but can't quite get
it together. She hasn't found time for a shower yet, is still
wearing sweats, is of course a little late, and runs across the street
in front of you, usually dragging a younger child who is almost
airborne at that speed. Finds pick-up child, quick hug, grabs
backpack, which comes dangerously close to hitting the now almost
airborne again younger child. They rush to car, late for the next
errand. She throws them into the seats, buckles them in a frenzy,
and roars out of spot. At least she parked in a real spot, but the
cupcake doesn't make it into the car. She runs over it as they drive
away. That art project didn't stand a chance. It blew away in the
current created by this mad dash of chaos.

The
Social Mom: She's parked so that she has plenty of room to talk
to the other moms. The kids' she's picked up stand not so patiently
waiting to be let into the car, yet she's yacking away, mostly
bragging about herself, her kids' latest accomplishments, comparing
them to other children (by name) whose achievements aren't quite as
high, and ignoring all attempts by the children to get her attention.
She'll “look at it later” when shown the art project, “no you
can't eat that cupcake, it's got sugar”. Back packs must be held,
they'll get dirty if set in the grass.

So
who am I? I told you. I'm The Lazy Mom, sitting in my car,
making the kids come to me, after walking a bit, carrying their own
stuff. I do hand them napkins for the cupcake, though, and I do make
sure I compliment their art.

Which
mom (or dad...I didn't even get to the dads...) are you? Or have you
identified another breed I missed?

Friday, October 4, 2013

Wow.
I just looked through all my jot books (where I jot down blog post
ideas, or quotes, or rants) and there's nothing there that I can turn
into a whole post. I've used up all the ideas.

I
remember when they were coming fast and furiously and I was
constantly reaching for one of those three books that I had stashed
in convenient places. Now I'm remembering WHEN I jotted those ideas.
Prednisone. So that evil drug is good for at least one thing:
creativity. Or maybe it's that I was spending a lot of time hiding
from people so that I didn't bite their heads off and thus had time
to think. And since it made me rather ADHD, I had lots of ideas
bouncing all over the place.

Don't
get me wrong. I have no desire to get back on prednisone. I just
want some ideas to start flowing again. Meanwhile, here are some
random things that won't make a whole post, but I feel like sharing
anyway.

Ω
Why is it that we get more excited about a song when it comes on the
radio, or on Pandora, or our shuffle? I'm talking about songs that
mean something to you, that you own and could play anytime you
wanted. Yet you don't. Then when it comes on, you're thinking, “Oh
wow, perfect song!”

Ω
In the most bizarre coincidence I've experienced in a long time,
Green Day's Good Riddance (Time of My Life) came on as I was writing
that last paragraph. It's a very special song for many reasons, not
the least of which is that The Transporter learned to play it on his
electric guitar for me.

Ω
Why does the school need a signed note from me about my child's
absence if that same teacher was the one who sent him to the nurse
because he was so visibly sick she thought he should go home?

Ω
You know you've been helping your child with math way too late into
the night if you end up dreaming that you have to calculate the
volume of your lungs in order to breathe.

Ω
If you are the lead car at an intersection with a left-turn arrow,
it's YOUR responsibility to watch the light and GO when it turns
green. Put down the phone and pay attention. Please.

Ω
I've found that raising teenagers is challenging. Right now I'm
wishing for fewer teachable moments...

Ω
After talking to the nurse at my gastroenterology doctor's office
yesterday, she said to make an appointment. “Tell them you're
acute, so they can get you in faster.” Apparently acute means I
can see them on November 13th.

Ω
OYT quote of the day: “My body is a very uncomfortable place for my
brain to live.” He was sick and trying to do homework.

Ω
Movie quote of the day: “The world is made for people not cursed
with self-awareness.” Name the movie.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

I'm
a writer today because of one extraordinary teacher: Ms. Marilee
Ruddle. Yes, that's her real name and I hope she googles herself and
reads this.

Ms.
Ruddle had a reputation for being ridiculously tough. She famously
didn't give A's. Overachievers like me with a 4.0 GPA got their
parents to get them a different teacher for English 11. I was not so
lucky. I got Ms. Ruddle. Ha! Turns out I was the lucky one after
all.

Prior
to my junior year, I'd always been praised for my writing, getting
good grades, winning contests, feeling confident and pleased with
myself. That was soon to change. I got my first essay back with a
C+/C-. Top grade for mechanics, bottom grade for content. I was
stunned to say the least. Angry. Treated unfairly. And for the
first time, my work had turned all red. What was happening?

“This
paper is all fluff and no content. You've made careless grammatical
errors. I expect so much more from you.” Talk about developing
insecurities. Who was wrong here? All my other teachers? Ms.
Ruddle? Or was it me? I labored over the re-write of that essay.
Got it to a B-/C+. Damn. This was going to be a long year.

As
it turned out though, it was a fun year. We memorized poetry and
recited it for a grade, during private appointments with her. THAT I
got an A on. “You put such emotion into your recitation, and not
only did you know them all, you seemed to enjoy yourself.” Now
we're talking!

We
sat in a circle and listened to an old, scratchy piece of vinyl that spun in circles before us. It was Dylan Thomas himself, reading “Fern
Hill”.

We learned of art, it's various styles, and memorized the
name of the painting, the name of the artist, and the years the
artist lived. Again, we had private appointments and she held up a
print, and we would say, “American Gothic, Grant Wood, 1891-1942.”
(I only had to look up the years. Show me those 25 paintings today
and I'd probably get a respectable B, if I don't have to
recite the years. Everything else stuck. I can still recite the
poems, too. Would you like to hear The Road Less Traveled or
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening?)

Fourth
quarter we spent on a research paper, learning the entire process
step by step. I worked my butt off on this. I remember lying in my
bikini, all oiled up (we all had to be tan back then...) in my yard,
books spread about me, and making index cards. I lamented the amount
of work, but I persevered. I was jealous of those not in her class
who had free afternoons.

I
hardly dared look as she passed them back to us. I almost fainted
when I saw the grade: A-/A. Unbelievable. As I paged through the
ten, painstakingly typed pages, I came across one with only one line
of red. It read, “This page flows quite nicely.”

I
was a writer. I may not have gotten an A on my report card, but I
got an A on a paper. The most important paper of the year. Ms.
Ruddle liked it! I had my confidence, and I WAS a better writer
thanks to her relentless pushing.

What
inspired you to start writing? Maybe thinking back, and putting it
on paper will give you a confidence boost. It worked for me.
Thanks, Jeremy, for prompting me.

*****

The
Insecure Writer's Support Group, brainchild of Alex J. Cavanaugh,
posts first Wednesday of the month. You can join us. There's a tab
at his blog.